


Fired up on you

by blue_chocolate



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, Riding, one-sided, this is the independent sequel to these fading beats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_chocolate/pseuds/blue_chocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he says. He knows about Niall’s theories, about Zayn’s attitude and Louis’ actions, about his own hopeless yearning, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t have the voice to shout anymore. He tries to spot the scars on Louis’ skull, tries to remember the way the bandage wrapped around, but his imagination fades. “I’m sorry.”</em><br/> <br/>Harry dreams of Louis’ waist under his fingertips, the arch of their bodies, the praises from that delicate mouth, the snow. Vivid memories fill his flat and though frost lingers on the windows yet again he’s nowhere closer to have Louis in his arms. The two confront each other on New Year’s Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fired up on you

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, fun with independent sequels and all, but if you'd like to read These fading beats (which you should--it'll make all this much easier to understand) either look for it on my profile or go here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1240513  
> The title is taken from Ben Howard's _Time Is Dancing_
> 
> Thanks to lilialves, 1dinourbed and knickerslouis who made this happen x

He wakes headlong in the couch, phone still in hand and blasting Modest Mouse. The earphones slip when he rustles to life, shards of crisps shed from his cheek and the telly displays re-runs of Emmerdale like it has for the past weeks. He squints, fumbles for the phone about to die underneath him and tugs his hand from his trousers. Hefty paragraphs beam at him once he gets the device going, words of comfort he drained until the earliest of hours when he collapsed with his neck askew and a burn behind his eyes.

Niall’s admonitions fizz out as he buried the phone deep in the couch. Butch men fuck each other on his computer screen, tied up, blindfolded, spanked. One tab holds a different title. He clicks it. Up comes a picture of a model, just coming of age, with flowers woven in his feathery hair and a touch of dark around his eyes, holding a glimpse of something that stirs Harry’s gut. He leans on a pillar, head tipped back and lips parted, a lily between his fingertips as the only item between the camera and his cock. Youth personified.

He slams the laptop shut. Popcorn litters the living room and he groans as his gaze sweeps across the slashed painting. When he snaps out of it and registers what’s going on, he jumps to his feet. In the bathroom he scrubs yesterday’s filth off, drowns out excess noise in a patchy hum and winces at the soap’s soft caress. If it had been past noon he would have slept it all away. If it had been any other day he would have reclined with his neck askew and long fingers wrapped around himself to that beautiful model on his screen. God knows he can’t get off to anything else.

Before time hits afternoon he stuffs everything pornographic under the bed, joined by torn slippers and a box of necessities, masks the shallow in his eyes and combs his hair. He dives into the finishing touch in the form of a translucent shirt when knocks hail on his door, too gentle, and he opens it with the same excitement a toddler holds on Christmas. Everything be damned if he doesn’t keep himself from collapsing.

“Didn’t interrupt you, did I?” Louis says where he leans in the doorway, a pack of cigarettes peeking from his pocket. His cheeks glow, a type of rosy hint Harry only recognizes from the car wreck.

Harry shakes his head. “Here, I’ve cleaned and everything.” He backs from the doorway.

Louis walks in with winter in his breath and a gentle smile on his face and he’s never been as beautiful as he is wrapped up in scarves unsuitable for the season and Zayn’s onyx coat. He drapes his outwear over the back of an armchair, ruffles his hair out in a whiff of foreign perfume and follows Harry’s gesture to the kitchen.

The glimpse of teeth lures Harry in, demands his attention and reverence, courage and lust. He wishes he’d showered longer.

Louis perches on one of the tall chairs by the bar and stretches in a way that reveals a stripe of bronze skin. Though Harry ought to ogle the sight, suck up strings of drool, he locks his eyes on the locks folding back over Louis’ skull, longer than Harry remembers them when fisted in his hands and Louis’ gasps in his mouth.

“Trying to out-grow me?” he says.

Louis freezes in his motions, stomach still on display and the breezy smile grazes his lips like it’s nothing. “Always. You’re difficult to compete with.” He drops his arms. “I’ve been meaning to do it for a while. New year, new you, right?”

Harry nods, fumbles with a box of chocolates hidden in the far back of his cupboard, given from his mother as a token of pitiful empathy. “It looks great.” He slides two cuppas on the table, pops open the box and plucks a piece. “Dark toffee?”

For a while, Louis only toys with the handle on his cup. Once he’s torn from deep thought his eyes flicker to Harry’s form, slumped back on the sink and scrunched nose buried in tea. “I shouldn’t. I’m on a diet.”

“You? You’re so thin…”

“Yeah.” Louis takes a sip. “But I’m not fit. I don’t need more of that in my stomach.” He taps his knuckles to the cup. “This is excellent.”

“Brewed it before the fireworks went off, in case I wouldn’t wake up today.” Harry grabs the sink, arms spread wide, and the pack of cigarettes tugs his attention. His chest aches. “Picked up the habit, I see.”

Louis emits a displeased hum and waves his hand. “One vice is enough. I’d forgotten my coat at Perrie’s so I stole his.” A faint quirk in the corner of his mouth shatters his focused illusion. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Oh?” The tea soothes his throat, but nausea wells up, jumbles his mind. He nibbles on his lip, keeps his mouth shut as he deciphers the secrets in Louis’ eyes. No matter how long he stares he won’t find anything. So he holds his tongue and tries to ignore the overwhelming stench of smoke and the fraught evidence he didn’t have time to hide.

When Louis gives a muffled cough and devours his tea with a grimace, Harry puts his own cup aside. “Wanna watch Kill Bill? I know you prefer Pulp Fiction.”

“Kill Bill sounds perfect. Got any champagne?”

He sends Louis on his way to the living room with a cock of his head and rummages the cupboards. Gifted cartons of gingerbread and block his view, though his search doesn’t hesitate. He stares past them at a tall bottle in the back, tugs it out in the light and skims the label. When he exits, Louis has settled into the couch and accepts one of the two glasses he carries, gives a broad smile as Harry fills it.

Clouds loom in the horizon and he hears Niall’s reprimands in his head, like the man sits in the adjoined armchair, but when Louis swirls a single finger over the rim of his glass and stares to the screen expectantly with an invitation to the spot next to him, Harry swallows his pride.

He sinks down by Louis’ side as the movie rolls and tastes the champagne, throws an arm on the backrest. The sun leaves a frozen world in its wake; a world in which Zayn is the least of his problems and Louis’ smile is everything, and he thinks about every word of advice he’s gotten in the past year, every time he’s choked on his tears, and throws it all away. Louis melds into his side, head on his shoulder and glass in hand, and they watch the bloodbath on the telly with hazy eyes and his chest heats up. He tips his chin atop Louis’ head, deserts his champagne to ghost a caress over Louis’ arm.

Louis hums and leans to refill his glass. “Are you angry with me?” he says. He keeps his eyes peeled and casts them to his hands when Harry presses a thumb to his wrist. “I know Zayn shouted at you, but he hasn’t been himself since then. I thought he’d blame himself, mostly, but he just mulls about in the flat and I don’t know what to do.” He coughs, wipes his mouth and finishes the beverage as Harry guides him back in the couch with a steadfast hand. “I don’t know why I haven’t said anything to you. I don’t know.”

It bereaves Harry of words. He refrains from asking as Louis doodles on his chest and he takes every new touch with a shiver. His shirt is too thin for this. When Louis doesn’t explain further he folds an arm around the man.

“I’m all ears,” he says.

Louis mutes the telly and pulls away, rubs his face before he reclines opposite Harry in the couch and stares. The cold irritates his eyes, reddened and lidded, and he bites on his knuckles.

“Why am I here?”

Anxious waves roll through Harry who arranges the cushions around him and settles down.

Louis takes the finger from his teeth. The pink on his cheeks has since long died down and Harry can trace love bites far under his collar. He blinks, curls his fingers around the glass. “Why am I sitting here with you when I can still taste him in my mouth? Tell me.”

Louis’ eyes flare and for a second Harry mistakes it for anger. He keeps his words buried and Louis gnaws on his bottom lip, body frozen and hunched. Fear overcomes him and he sees the headlights flicker before him, hears the glass shatters, and soon enough the picture transits to Louis’ broad smile in the park and heat batters their skin. His lips twitch.

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he says. He knows about Niall’s theories, about Zayn’s attitude and Louis’ actions, about his own hopeless yearning, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t have the voice to shout anymore. He tries to spot the scars on Louis’ skull, tries to remember the way the bandage wrapped around, but his imagination fades. “I’m sorry.”

Louis nods and downs his glass, stares to the empty container with a blank expression. He stays silent.

“I’d never smoke,” Harry says. The air shifts and he leans forward, puts a tentative hand on Louis’ thigh and smiles when the man’s head drops to the backrest, exposes his bruised throat. “I’d be so good to you. You aren’t in his arms because you need more, and I don’t know if I can give that to you, but I’ll sure as fuck try. If there were others like you I might sneak a glance, but there’s no one else. Let me take care of you, please.” He falls quiet once the words are said and regret overpowers him.

Louis blinks to the ceiling. Cigarettes sound tempting now, if just to see the smoke bleed into the air and have it tear his lungs apart.

“Come over here,” he says.

Harry crawls from his position and places himself an inch from Louis’ pointy knee while the man observes him. With a look from Louis, he removes his hand, squeezes it between his legs. Blood splatters on the telly and only the traffic shrouds the room. It’s all he can hear in his head, and for once he’s glad it rings louder than his heartbeat. Nothing takes away the need to cower under those eyes, chilled by witnessed cruelties he wants to know.

Louis hasn’t been treated right in a long time and that stays in the centre of Harry’s attention as Louis leaves his cramped space to slide a hand up Harry’s jaw, lets lips graze lips with eyes open.

“Let me do this,” he says as he takes Harry’s chin in hand and licks his mouth open.

Harry’s eyes slip shut and he wires soft locks around his fingers, feels them caress his knuckles as he grasps Louis’ neck. He locks a hand on the man’s waist and pulls their chests flush and Louis’ smiles through their teeth and tongues and moves onto Harry’s lap so they tip into the couch again, nestled between cushions. The fall parts their lips and Harry groans, fists the nape of Louis’ neck and tenses at the hot tongue circling his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t think about it,” Louis says as he comes back up and places a finger before Harry’s lips.

When he goes down and unbuttons Harry’s shirt with such delicacy, Harry’s head lolls to the side and he squeezes his eyes shut. The same love bites Louis possesses blooms over his own body, from below his ear to his navel, bursts on his skin like small fires. He holds Louis’ waist as the man lets his hair fall and rubs their crotches together. Pleasure sears his veins and he peeks to the kitchen where their cuppas stand in the shadows. His eyes trail down the side of the onyx coat to the small pack of Marlboro.

Before his thoughts meander into bitterness he looks up at Louis, loses himself in the familiar fragrance. Louis’ sweaty palms slip on his chest, too ardent, and the brunet stiffens his legs around Harry’s torso. He arches his back, traces a hand back over the bulge in Harry’s jeans. A languid grin splits his face as the man underneath sighs.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, “show how hard you are for me. Beg.”

Harry wants to comply, hear the tug of his zipper and have Louis stroke him, but he doesn’t know how. The scheme of it daunts him, being exposed in Louis’ hands, to be twisted and turned. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t conjure a protest.

“Please, Louis,” he says and jerks his hips. “Touch me. I need it.”

Louis chuckles. “I will. Jerk that lovely cock until you’re crying for release, yeah?”

Harry burkes a gasp and nods. “Yeah.” He’s going mad, he can feel it. “Come on, give me something, _anything._ ”

“Little boy…” Louis hops from his body and clamps a hand over his ankles as he works the zipper and slips the cock from his briefs with a soft glint in his eyes. Harry buries his fingers in Louis’ hair when the man takes his cock in and he exhales a laugh. Insanity must have grasped him now. He bites his lip in an attempt to keep quiet while Louis’ eyes flutter shut and his cheeks hollow, tightens his velvet lips around it.

“Jesus,” Harry says. He would have bet the peak of his life took place in the backseat of his car, with Louis’ legs wrapped around him, pulling him so close. He would have regretted that statement. He jolts in a curse as Louis cups his balls and gives a pinch to his cock. Steady throbs of pleasure gush from his crotch. When he meets Louis’ amused gaze, the man flicks his tongue over the head before he removes his touch and sits back.

Louis snakes a hand between his own legs. “Your bed or here?”

Harry rises in a flash, breath deep in his throat while he gathers Louis in his arms and the man holds onto his shoulders. Their lips lock in a messy kiss, one that blinds Harry and has him knocking over their glasses and puts a falter in his steps as he tries to keep Louis’ tongue in his mouth and his jeans on his hips.

Louis cups his cheek and the hums he emits make Harry quicken his steps. It feels like they’re kids, mistaken for young adults, with the way they laugh into each other’s mouths and claw at each other’s bodies, trying to get closer, skin to sticky skin and feel their heartbeats coalesce and he thinks that, in another life, they could have been.

They fall into bed and Louis’ hands runs behind him, wires them into his hair and yanks his head forward again, back to the smouldering kiss. Patches of reddened flesh pop under Louis’ nails down his bare chest and the man picks himself up on all fours above him, letting his swollen lips drag against Harry’s, whose hand stays tense on his neck. Louis smiles and pauses his clawing to stroke hair from his forehead.

“Do you know what I wanna do?” he says.

Harry can barely think. Louis’ breath dips into his ear and the breathy voice consumes him, like they’re still making small talk in the kitchen.

“I wanna tie you to the headboard—sink my ass onto that thick cock and fuck until either of us passes out.” Louis suckles on his throat.

Comments, all of wrong snarky sort, bubble in Harry’s mind and he contains them with a whine. No matter what he tries to convince himself, he is no longer in charge. His leaking cock peeks from the gap in his jeans and he can’t think of anything but to nod and hope that Louis has mercy on him.

The man pats his cheek. “Good boy.” A nail rakes up his jawline before Louis slips from his aching body. It’s easy to refrain from jacking off when he outlines Louis’ curves in the dim light, the quirk of a promising smile the beacon he’s searched for months.

Louis rests a hand to the cool wooden door opposite the bed. “Be still,” he says as he slips it open and rummages around Harry’s closet. His hands knock into an old shoebox and though the ties dangle before him, he peeks into the box. He doesn’t say a word as he drops it on the bed with the ties and Harry can’t decode the look on his face.

With two fingers dipped opposite each other in the waistband of Harry’s jeans, he tugs them down and deposits them on the floor alongside his shirt. Once Harry’s eyes rest solely on him, his socks scatter somewhere in the corner of the room and he maintains eye contact as his nimble fingers work the zipper. The trousers pool by his feet at a single sweep from his hand and he rests his palm on his crotch as Harry’s eyes blow wide.

“Hands above your head.”

Louis picks a striped tie from the bedspread, dark as the world outside, and saunters around the bed to where Harry thrusts his hands to the headboard. The silky fabric tickles as Louis wires it around Harry’s right wrist and the intricate metal pattern behind.

For a moment Harry closes his eyes, takes in the delicious pinch inflicted on his skin and Louis’ fingertips tapping down his body as the brunet moves around him. Without the hinted smile, Harry would find these actions sinister.

Louis makes quick work of Harry’s left wrist. He fastens it with a harsh tug and stops to look at the man spanned out below. His palm traces every ridge of Harry’s chest, from the ribs protruding under his touch to those sharp hipbones while Harry thrashes beneath him. “Oh, you’re absolutely delirious, aren’t you?”

The bed rocks as Harry yanks his wrists meekly. Louis rises to his knees and caresses his chest, brushing his perky nipples and the hard cock in his briefs with a sly grin. Back arched, his hand dips into the back of his underwear. Displeased hums buzz in his throat and he gasps as his fingers curl around the plug nestled between his cheeks. He twists it free, drops it on top of Harry’s shoebox and takes a bottle of lube in hand.

Harry watches, enthralled as the man tips his head back and slickens himself up with a sigh. Even with the hours spent plugged he takes his time, circles his rim and dips a finger inside himself, all while he towers over Harry’s expectant form.

“Louis, please…” Harry says under his breath. The ties dig into his wrists, makes his skin irate.

Louis freezes at the discovery. He wipes his messy hand on the sheets and tugs Harry’s cock leisurely. As the man pants and curls his toes, Louis gives a lopsided smile and moves up the bed.

“Just say you want me,” he says. “Give me your best shot.”

“More than anything— _Jesus_. Louis, fuck me. Bet you’re still tight.”

Harry’s eyes flutter at Louis’ caress to his cheek and he gasps as the man sinks down on him, takes him in and kisses the corner of his mouth. He forgets about his restraints for a second and the bedframe bangs to the wall as he tries to reach Louis, guide him, hold him to his chest and make sense of his jumbled feelings. Louis puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head. The touch scorches him even when Louis leans back and starts to ride him, two hands on his thighs.

Harry can stare at him forever, the shine on his forehead and the teeth buried in his bottom lip, how his face scrunches, and it’s so much better than before, to see a tint of red in his cheeks instead of lilac.

Louis’s hands abandon their steel grip on his thighs and tilt his head up. He licks into Harry’s mouth, grasps his jaw and his whines mix with Harry’s gruff moans as he rolls his hips. Their lips slip apart and he buries his head in Harry’s neck, arches his back to fit the man’s chest.

“Tight enough for you?” he says.

His words tickle Harry’s skin and the man tries to keep himself from fucking up into the velvet heat.

“Fuck, yes,” he says.

Louis clenches around him. “Been wanting your cock all week. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve pleasured myself to the thought of you, sweetie.” He gives a breathy chuckle at the end and trails his fingers back to where his ass slides up and down Harry’s cock. “Show me what you can do with those hips.”

Harry screws his heels into the mattress. He thrusts up and Louis gnaws moans in his skin, clutches his damp hair and begs him to go faster. Though the ties chafe his wrists he fights to keep Louis close, pleased as he pounds into the man and relishes their carnal sounds.

The cold can’t reach him here under Louis’ body, under the weight of their ludicrous pleads and his hopes. Louis only tightens his grip on him and places a soft kiss below his ear. If he could he’d reach down and jerk the man off but he has to settle for rubbing his abdomen against Louis’ cock as he works them both.

Creaks enter his mind as a sharp thrust bangs the bed to the wall again. A low chuckle tears from Louis’ throat and he loosens his grasp, rests on his chest and moves a shaky hand to his sore wrists. Harry hisses at the touch and bites into his shoulder.

“I know it hurts, baby,” Louis says in a pant. “Don’t worry, I’m not punishing you. Come for me. Fill me up.”

Harry gives a startled cry and tenses, drives his feet into the mattress and jerks his arms. Everything burns and Louis is too tight around him, too hot, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he twitches and spurts. It feels like he’ll never stop, and when Louis whimpers and rides it out with him, he wouldn’t mind. He wishes he help somehow, give him some real friction instead of the fruitless rubs he executes with each roll of his hips, but the more he strains, the more his skin tears.

When they come down to Earth again, Louis falls slack on top of him, grins at the moans rumbling through the man’s ribcage. He eases himself off Harry’s softening cock and braces his thighs on either side of the man, scissors his fingers inside the knots he’s made and begins to untie them. It gives Harry a perfect view of his swollen cockhead, glossy white down the shaft just like his own, and come trickles onto his hot skin.

“Got any towels?” Louis says and slants his head.

From where he lies, Harry glimpses long lashes and soft skin and he doesn’t even flinch when one of the ties drop next to his head.

“Closet,” he says, voice hoarse to his dismay, “bottom drawer.”

When Louis slips away to wipe them off, he pulls himself up and blows gently on his marred flesh, rests his back to the headboard’s cool steel. He loosens the second knot and fishes up the rumpled bedspread with his toes. It pools next to him, ready to be used.

Louis tosses one of the towels to him while he wipes himself, runs it between his thighs as he walks before dumping it in the shoebox. He sweeps a finger over the toys in there.

“Naughty,” he says to himself, low enough to be mistaken as a sigh.

Once Harry’s all clean and Louis thumbs some forgotten come from his thigh, he watches the man bite his lip and scan the sight before him, spread out with droopy eyes. Louis leaves his spot and treads over the icy floor on bare feet, stops by the head of the bed.

“Can I?”

Harry moves from the middle and folds back the duvet. Louis crawls in and presses to his chest as he drapes them in a chrysalis, so small where they huddle in the grand bed. It doesn’t take long for him to curl an arm around Louis, nose into his scalp and let his eyes slip shut. Louis hums against his skin, places a hand on his waist. Strange whizzes come from the telly and he knows he should go up and shut it off, knows he could stay up another hour or two, but he doesn’t want to let go.

 

The flat lies in silence when he wakes. Louis still slumbers next to him, embedded in damp sheets and a small towel. He shuffles closer and treads a hand between Louis’ legs and lets it graze the balls and tip of his flaccid cock. A smile tugs his lips alive. It seems like an untrue statement, with the way he so often repeats it, but Louis has never looked more gorgeous than he does sleepy in Harry’s arms. He nestles a kiss into the fine mane below the man’s ear, regretful as Louis stirs with a whimper.

He trails his kisses down Louis’ shoulders, keeps them light, tender. Louis frees himself from arms and fabrics and stumbles to his feet, dashes to the bathroom and falls to his knees in front of the toilet. Retches fill Harry’s ears and he rolls onto his back, feels the warm woven into the spot next to him and throws an arm above his head. He could have gotten a bucket.

Curious fingers wander to his neck and dip into the bites he received. Heat bubbles in his gut when they sting at his touch.

He sits up when the toilet is flushed and Louis treads into the room again, clad in Harry’s pale bathrobe and with arms crossed as he leans in the doorway. The scene from yesterday replays in Harry’s head, when Louis swayed in the middle of the room, waiting for an invitation. He shuffles back to his side of the bed. This time, Louis looks to the floor.

“Why are you still thinking about me?” he says.

Harry straightens his back and hopes for Louis to meet his imploring gaze, but he knows it’s a hopeless case. As his heartbeat accelerates, he stays composed. He keeps the duvet wired around his body and crawls to the edge of the bed, relaxes when Louis stays put.

“Because I can’t let you go,” he says. “Don’t say I haven’t tried. It sucks, because you’re having your happily ever after with Zayn, but I’m in love with you, and as long as you come back to me I’ll stay.”

Louis scowls. “No, you need me. You want me.”

Harry swallows a sigh. His feet drop to the floor and he keeps one hand fisted in the duvet while his toes dance over the floor.

“Why are you with him?”

Louis holds his throat, like he’s afraid of dashing through the bathroom once more, but his lips quirk in a smile, one that makes Harry’s bones tingle. “We deserve each other. I could never be with someone like you, you know that.”

Harry lifts an eyebrow. “Zayn deserves you?”

“Well, I slept with you, didn’t I?”

A pair of clean boxers peeks from under the bed and he yanks them up his legs to reduce some of the stagnant tension. “Look, I’m not waiting for you to confess eternal love to me, but just realize that you wouldn’t have come yesterday if you didn’t want me too.”

“What?”

He tries to stay delicate, he does, but this might be his only shot.

“I’m yours, Louis. I belong to you. I just want to hold you in the mornings, kiss you awake, build a haven in our bed.” He pauses when Louis finally looks at him and softens his tone. “We would have a bed.”

He leaves the bed, cups Louis’ cheek with a fleeting touch. When the brunet doesn’t move he entwines their fingers and moves his lips to Louis’ ear. “Come back to me tonight. No strings attached, I promise.” He kisses his cheek and pulls back.

Louis’ eyes flicker over his face. “You don’t’- I can’t do that to you.”

“Of course you can. One more night and when you leave I can let you go.”

Arms snake around his waist and he lets them hold him as he places his chin on Louis’ head and listens to the words muffled in his neck.

“I don’t want you to let me go.”

They sway in the doorway and, fool or not, he knows it’s not love, but when Louis tightens his grip and inhales his scent, it’s as close as it gets. He whispers an “okay” and lets his thoughts venture to the dark places he denies himself access to. It’s a foul game they’re playing. Maybe that’s what Niall tried to tell him, back when he so hopelessly sought reciprocation. He does his best to restrain his terms of endearment and when the two part he watches Louis dress with a timid smile. As much as he wants to, he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“I’m not asking you to leave him.”

The zipper squeaks.

“Pardon?”

“Just…” He steps forward again, digs his nails into his aching wrists to refrain from jumping him. Louis shimmies into his rumpled shirt, but keeps his gaze. “Stay here for a while, figure things out. Doesn’t mean you need to have it all worked out when you go back to him. I’d do anything but watch this tear you apart.”

For once, Louis freezes. He freezes and doesn’t move until a faraway car horn rings out.

“Stop,” he says. He locks gazes in a glare before leaving the room in a swift gait. Harry scurries after, wide-eyed, and yanks Louis’ arm before he reaches the door. It’s messy, when Louis surrenders on the couch with arms above his head and Harry puts a heel to the front door, just in case. He sees the hollows under Louis’ arms, the faded hair on his skull and the love bites wherever light shines upon him.

Louis laughs. “ _This_ isn’t hard for me. I know what I’m doing, Harry, I’m not some indecisive child ambling from playground to playground.”

The door grates as Harry takes away his heel and settles in one of the kitchen chairs, moved to the doorway where he can see Louis in broad daylight. Every time Harry looks to him he discovers a new mystery and though he’s been inside the man, dreamt about the two in a domesticated setting, he can’t figure it out. “Never said you were.”

Pallid sunshine illuminates Louis’ white complexion, bleaker than ever when his hands knot and he examines the ceiling, anything to take him away for the moment. His clasped hands tighten and he takes a shaky breath.

“Got any more champagne?” he says.

“Not with the-“

“Please.”

Harry stands. The empty bottle perches on the living room table, so he snatches the nearest beer and slides it over. As Louis downs it with a wince and rubs his temple, he sits down next to him and before he can settle down, Louis’ head rests on his shoulder. Shivers go up his spine at the touch. He should have gotten used to it by now. Maybe it’s the secrecy of it; that no one knows; that—for a second—Louis is his.

He drapes an arm over the man and shuts the telly off, waits for the change in the air.

“We’re not right, are we?”  Louis’ words stumble out and he cocks his head. “He and I?”

Harry ghosts a hand over his cheek. When he receives a slow blink in response, he rests their forehead together. To hell with everything else. He just needs Louis’ touch, his lips and attention, and the rest will fall into place.

“Can I just…” Their noses nudge and Louis’ eyes flicker shut. “Can I come here sometimes? Work things out?” He fits their lips together, slides a hand up Harry’s thigh and squeezes. It tenses.

“Whenever,” Harry says in an exhale.

“No strings attached?”

He grins and suckles on Louis’ lip.

“No strings attached.”

He likes to think they’ve grown since last winter, likes to think he’s fine with the small part of Louis he gets to tend for and that he can get over him when the time comes, so when Louis shows up on his doorstep a week later with a bag by his feet and tears in his eyes, Harry just opens his arms.


End file.
